Worth It
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. Oneshot. In a relationship there were a lot of little "fights" that could be had. The goal was deciding whether or not something was really worth it. Sushi probably isn't worth it. Rated for some language/suggestion.


**AN: This is just a fun little one shot that was requested by the real Sonia.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I'm not eating that shit!" Daryl insisted.

"It's good," Carol said unwrapping the tray that she'd picked up on her way home. "You'll like it, I promise."

"Ain't gonna like it at all because I done told you that I won't eat it," Daryl responded.

"You said pick up dinner," Carol said, sorting the sushi rolls carefully onto plates. "So I picked up dinner."

"I said how about you pick up a couple of burgers," Daryl said. "That don't look like a burger to me. Not even made from cows."

"Sushi is healthier than burgers," Carol said. "And we could both stand to watch our weight a little."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her from where he stood, back against the pantry in the kitchen, and shook his head.

"Neither one of us is fat," he said.

"No," Carol responded. "But we're getting _comfortable_. And comfortable is starting to show. I've gained almost ten pounds and don't think I haven't noticed that you're having more trouble getting into your jeans these days than most teenage girls who insist on wearing a size too small."

"Pffttt," Daryl spat at her.

It wasn't much of a reply, but really it was the only thing that he could say. He knew, as well as Carol did, that what she said was the truth. They were both happy. They were the happiest that either of them had ever been in their lives. They'd been dating almost a year and, the few expected fights aside over things that were really inconsequential, they'd had an almost perfect romance so far. They moved in with one another four months ago and things were just _right_. As was usually the case when things simply seemed like they couldn't get any better, both of them had been being a little indulgent. Why not have that cake? They both enjoyed it. Dinner was so good that a second helping was certainly on the menu. The only thing that could make movie night any better was cuddling up and sharing ice cream.

They ate, they drank, and they were merry. They were living the life of lower-middle class kings. And their waistlines, certainly, were beginning to tell the tale.

"It's good," Carol urged once more. "You're going to love it. I'm sure of it."

Daryl had all the overall demeanor of a petulant child at the moment. He curled his lip at the sushi that he hadn't even tried and the stormy look about his eyes said this could very well develop into another fight for them to add to their relationship's small collection. Carol just had to decide if it was really worth what it could become.

"Carol Ann," Daryl said, pointing his finger at her, "I'm not eating that shit. Now you like it? You can just—eat the whole damn tray yourself!"

"It's fish!" Carol said. "You _like_ fish. You enjoy everything that's here—everything in these rolls is something you like. Something you eat regularly. If you're so bothered by the shape, I can sort of smash them? Destroy them? Then you can eat all the ingredients with a fork and you don't even have to think of it as sushi. Just call it—Japanese _surprise_."

"It's the damn surprise I'm worried about," Daryl commented. "That's got some raw fish in it. You're just asking to double over with food poisoning. I eat fish, but you've seen me make it. It's clean and it's cooked proper."

"It's battered and deep fried," Carol said. She picked up the plate and brought it toward Daryl. He glanced to the side like he was making a plan of escape and intended to bolt if she got too close to him. She laughed to herself. "I'm not going to overpower you and force it down your throat," Carol offered. He looked too disgusted, at the moment, to even look amused. "You're not going to get food poisoning, Daryl. They freeze it first to kill the bacteria. It was made in a restaurant, with standards and regulations, not on the back of someone's pickup truck."

Daryl cleared his throat and straightened himself up to his full height.

"No," he said. "Thank you." Carol sucked in her bottom lip to keep from laughing at him.

"Just try one," Carol said. She pointed to one of the rolls. "That one. It's the safest. I promise. It's the one that—you're really going to like." Daryl raised his eyebrows and shook his head at her. "Just half of it," Carol said. "Just pick it up and bite it in half—and if you don't like it? You can spit it out and you don't even have to eat the other half. That's all you have to commit to. Just tasting half of that one."

"No. Thank. You," Daryl responded.

He thought good manners was going to get him out of this. His determination not to even try the food was, honestly, admirable. Carol wasn't used to seeing him so dedicated to refusing food.

"You're really not even going to try this?" Carol asked.

"Nope," Daryl said.

"Not even for me?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself, the first smile that he'd broken since he'd seen what Carol had picked up for dinner.

"I love ya, but if that's what it's gonna take for us to spend the rest of our damn lives together?" Daryl offered. "Then I'm gonna miss the hell out of you."

Carol couldn't help but laugh, but she swallowed back her amusement as quickly as possible.

"You know," she said, "there were some other things that I remember—once upon a time? You thought you weren't going to like the taste of. You thought—you weren't going to be able to stomach it." He furrowed his eyebrows at her in question and shook his head. In response, she raised her eyebrows at him. "You don't remember?" She asked. "The—what was it? _Third_ time we slept together? You had your whole—twenty minute confession that the whole reason you were so against _some things_ was because you were sure you weren't going to like it and you didn't want to—get _sick_ or something?" Daryl's cheeks turned a pretty bright pink at the reminder of some of the obstacles they'd overcome in their relationship—things they could laugh at now because they seemed so far removed from their reality. "As I recall, it didn't make you sick," Carol said. "And it still doesn't."

"Yeah—well that's different," Daryl said. "Hell—weren't all covered in fish shit that really can make you sick."

"They froze all the bacteria away, Daryl," Carol insisted. "You might like it. You've been wrong before."

"That's a whole different story and you know it!" Daryl insisted. "Throw some of that shit in a pan—cook it for a little while? Maybe then I'll _think_ about it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You don't cook sushi," she said. "I'm not going to just take these perfectly good rolls and sauté them for you so that you feel better about something that you've made up!"

He hummed.

"Well that's fine too," he said. "But I still ain't eating the shit!"

Carol sucked in a breath. There were things that were worth arguing over and then there were things that were simply not worth it. In the grand scheme of things, this just didn't feel like one of those things that she'd look back later and say that she was really glad she put the extra effort into fighting for it. She shrugged.

"Suit yourself," she said. She selected one of the rolls, put the whole thing in her mouth, and stood directly in front of Daryl while she chewed it up. He looked at her with the same expression he might have used if he'd just seen someone doing the most disgusting thing imaginable for all the world to see.

"You ain't kissing me neither," he said. "Not until you brush your damn teeth. That's nasty."

Carol covered her mouth with her hand, so that he didn't see the half chewed roll to further disgust him, and spoke around the food.

"You'll kiss me after I give you a blow job, but you won't kiss me now because I'm eating sushi?" Carol asked.

"Damn straight," Daryl said. "I know the ingredients are safe when you do _that_. Come outta me and they didn't kill me in there."

He raised his eyebrows at her like he'd just made the most valid point of his entire life and then he backed as close to the pantry as he could and sort of side stepped until he'd gotten away from her. Then he went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. Carol, for her part, swallowed down the roll that she'd finished chewing.

"Well if you aren't going to eat this," Carol asked, "then what are you going to eat for dinner?"

"Peanut butter'n jelly," Daryl said, going about gathering the ingredients for just such a meal.

"Do you even know all the things that the _government_ allows to be in peanut butter?" Carol asked. "It's probably more dangerous than sushi."

Daryl turned around, peanut butter jar in hand, and held a hand up to Carol to silence her. She almost laughed at the fact that he looked exasperated—absolutely _done_ —over the trauma of the almost-sushi.

"Just don't say nothin' else," Daryl said. "You eat your _food_ however the hell you want it and just—let me eat mine."

Carol laughed to herself and held her free hand up in mock surrender.

"OK," she said, "OK. I promise. I won't bug you anymore about the sushi. But—I _really_ think you'd like it."

Daryl, having already turned around to go back to making his sandwich, stopped what he was doing and turned enough to look at her. He smirked and immediately Carol knew that she didn't like that expression. It meant that he'd come up with something that he thought could _one up_ her with in this situation. He raised his eyebrows at her. He was about to raise the stakes—it was written all over his features.

"I can think of a couple things that you don't wanna try neither," he said. "Just because you _think_ you ain't gonna like 'em. So—I'ma make you a deal. I'll eat your little fish roll. The whole damn thing. But then I get to pick something that you gotta try and you can't argue."

Carol frowned at him.

"I get to pick?" She asked. "From like—three choices?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "You pick me trying your little dinner. I pick what the hell you try."

Carol took her plate of sushi and headed for the living room.

"Hey!" Daryl called. "Hey! Where the hell you goin'?"

"Enjoy your sandwich," Carol responded, sitting on the couch and looking for the remote.

She knew when the odds, maybe, were simply not in her favor and Carol, like any good gambler, knew when it was simply time to accept probable defeat and fold. Some things just weren't worth it.


End file.
